Wednesday, Aug. 24, 2005 | 9:08 a.m.
Adam Candee covers golf for the Sun. Reach him at (702) 259-4085 or by e-mail at [email protected].
In my mind, right alongside a standard poodle running for Congress and my coffee table writing the next great American novel was the idea that Phil Mickelson would ever win another major.
Huh. You don't say. Representative Fifi and "Coasters and Newsweek: A Memoir" must be out there.
Seriously, hearing that Lefty not only won at Baltusrol, but did so after having an extra night to sleep on his lead, stunned me. Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did.
This space has read many times that Mickelson's 2004 Masters victory qualified as a golfing anomaly, basically a glitch in the Matrix, black cat style. If that little slider putt at Augusta's 18th hole breaks another half-breath, Mickelson is in a playoff with Ernie Els, who likely makes Lefty into his first mate and continues that lovable loser stuff until kingdom come.
But that putt didn't miss, and neither did Mickelson's clutch chip on the final hole of the PGA Championship two weeks ago. After watching Mickelson falter down the stretch at two of the majors following his Masters win, it became easy to think he had simply dodged fate for a couple of hours at Augusta.
To watch Mickelson is to rarely have an idea about his confidence. He operates somewhere between Tiger Woods' fist pumping and Retief Goosen's stoicism, in a gray area seemingly spelled out in his Ford contract or something. Glimpses of frustration are there, but a sense that he really believes the big ones are his to win never used to be there.
It's tough to say that it exists even now, but the results are pretty good empirical evidence that something changed in Mickelson at Augusta. He will always be Tiger's opening act -- always -- but Lefty proved that the only thing flopping in the clutch will be his rainbow shots around the green.
Oh, and he proved me wrong, too. Credit where it's due, and I could use some credit counseling.
After finishing his round Sunday night, Woods saw that at least three players would have to come back for him to get into a playoff. Using his Spidey sense and just a pinch of logic, Woods deciphered that a group including Mickelson and former PGA champion Steve Elkington would not do that.
So he hopped on the Florida express and jetted home, taking in Monday's action from his gym while working out. Lo and behold, Woods did not make the playoff.
Yet the hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth ensued, because what would a good day be without a little media speculation about something that never happened, but by golly could have? What if Woods had made the playoff and not been there to take a crack at his third major win of the year?
What if a leopard had sprinted across the green and eaten Mickelson's ball before the winning putt? What if John Daly suddenly opened a Hooters franchise on the 10th fairway? What if, what if, what if?
Yes, it was unusual and very un-Tiger not to stick around just in case. But think about this for a minute: When would Woods ever miss a viable chance to kick some butt, especially in a major? The guy wouldn't concede a tap-in putt next to the windmill if etiquette didn't call for it.
Tiger revamped his game when he didn't need to and fought back in glorious form this year, winning two majors and seriously contending in the other two. To question his commitment at this point is just silly, especially over a hypothetical.
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